What is This World?
by jajathatguy
Summary: A US Army Ranger is thrown into the ZA along his best friend. (OC GROUP) PLEASE C/C
1. Haircuts & Carcasses

"Son of a bitch, boy, I haven't seen you up here in ages," exclaimed the African American man, who slapped one of the jumpers on his left shoulder with a smile. The man shrugged, smiling back.

"Good to see ya, Robbie. Yeah, I bit it back in the sandbox," he said, lifting his left pant leg to show off a circular scar, an obvious bullet wound.

"Damn," said one of the men down the line, "How the fuck did you do that?"

"Jesus Christ, manners Smokey," said one of the other men down the line, "Sorry about Smokey, dude's a dick. Name's Ryan, by the way, but the boys call me Tooth."

"Shut the fuck up, Tooth," retorted Smokey at his battle buddy as he looked to the man's name tape, "anyways, uh, Hicks, how do you know Grassman up here?"

"We rushed into Baghdad with the 1-64 in 2003 together, then redeployed with the 1-64 in 2004. We've been pretty good friends ever since," he said with a grin, punching the jumpmaster, Robbie Gras, in the stomach.

"Well I'll be damned, Hicks," said Tooth, laughing, "Maybe you know where Grassman gets those goddamn terrible fucking haircuts, huh?"

Layne Hicks threw his head back in laughter as he rubbed the stubble on his chin, "'fraid I don't. Hell, I give better haircuts though."

"Yeah, fuck you too Layne," smiled Gras, shaking his head from his seat across the troop bay, "How 'bout you tell the boys 'bout your wound, huh?"

"I was leading my squad against a team of Taliban Machine Gunners back in good ole' Afghanistan, and there were some… _complications_."

* * *

June 11, 2014

Afghanistan

Hicks squinted under his sunglasses as he gazed up the steep mountainside, where he could hear machine gun fire suppressing his teammates on the road below. He can see the insurgents lining the ridge as he hears the clatter of rocks and is brought from his trance to see one of his gunners caught by another man.

"Thanks for that, Sergeant Harrison," the gunner said to the Sergeant, who nodded and smiled, shouldering his rifle to continue the press up the mountain.

"So, Hicks, where the fuck are we gonna pop these guys," growled Harrison, and Hicks shrugged, seemingly indifferent, as the two Sergeants made eye contact.

"Those rocks look as good of a place as any," he said, nodding at a enthralment of boulders up the hillside. Harrison nodded as they continued to clamber up the rocky slope, finally reaching the boulders as Harrison nodded to the gunners to set up.

"Serpent 2-5, this is-," he was cut off by his own scream and the following crack of a sniper rifle. His men, stunned, were quickly pinned down by a mortar burst, and then another, and then more, as Hicks wrapped his leg after falling from the rock circle.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he groaned to himself as he felt arms lift him off the rocks and began carrying him back off the mountainside.

"Stay with me, man," growled Harrison, basically stumbling down the mountain as he rushed towards the convoy, now pulling off the kill zone.

* * *

"I woke up in a fucking helo bound for Bagram, didn't even have a choice. I got some shrapnel in my back too, but none of that shit was as bad as my calf," he shook his head, "We lost a lot of good people that day. Only Sergeant Harrison and I made it out, and Harrison was killed four days later by a VBIED. Now I've got these five prep jumps and SFOD selection."

Gras shook his head, frowning, as the red light pops on.

"Alright," he shouted over the drone of four propellers powering the C-130, "Stand up, Hook up!"

"Count off!" he shouted again, watching the seven men clip into a static line stretching through the crew bay.

"One, OK!"

"Two, OK!"

"Three OK!"

"Four, OK!"

"Five, OK!"

"Six, OK!"  
"Hicks, OK!"

Gras nodded as the green light came on and sunlight infiltrated the cabin, "Happy hunting, boys!"

Hicks was the last out, plummeting to the ground just in front of Gras as the grassy Fort Bragg field rushed up to greet the eight jumpers. Hicks frowned under goggles as he saw a mass of people moving into their drop zone, and not all of them were Army.

"Yo, Layne, you seein' this man?"

"I'm getting it, what the fuck are they doing?" Hicks growled back into his radio as he pulled the ripcord on his chute, which thrashed his entire body from one hundred miles an hour to slightly above ten.

"Smokey, Tooth, Johnson, keep those people back when you hit the ground," Gras shouted into his radio just above Hicks, as his own chute ripped him upwards. His three delta teammates took the order with a click of their radio as Gras and Hicks dipped below two hundred feet.

Hicks and Gras could only watch in horror as Gras' Delta teammates were ripped apart by cannibals, as it seemed, on the ground. Gras clicked back onto the radio as he watched the situation unfold.

"All jumpers, we are coming into a hot DZ, I repeat this is a hot DZ," he growled, and then veered his chute away from the now carcasses of his three teammates, with Hicks following the move.

Hicks hit the earth first, quickly cutting out of his chute as he raced towards Gras, who had also just came from his chute. The pair watched as two of the other three men on their stick were also ripped apart, and the third barely made it. They knelt, catching their breath.

"Fuck," Gras growled, as a big segment of the stumbling cannibals spotted them, "My old squadron commander, he has this cabin in the woods. It's probably untouched, but it's through these things."

"We can backtrack through the woods, I'd bet," said Hicks, not bothering to look at Gras as both men stared into the horde still stumbling towards them.

"Well regardless, we have to fucking go," Gras said, turning around and sprinting for the trees, Hicks on his heels as they reach the trees.

"We've gained some ground, but we need to keep moving quick. There's a game trail up here, that'll be the best way to get to the cabin," he said peering at the horde from behind a large oak tree as Hicks nodded towards horde.

"Hopefully these fucks don't follow us all the way to the cabin," he grunted, "and let's hope they can't track."

Hicks continued to jog through the woods, but eventually letting Gras take point as they approached the area Gras noted the trail was in. Hicks unbuckled his helmet as Gras directed with his hand where the trail was.

"Jesus," Gras said, kneeling, as Hicks trotted up alongside the Delta Force man, who was staring at a deer carcass.

"They aren't just going after us. What the hell are these things?" Hicks said, rhetorically asking the question into thin air.

Gras only shrugged, "I don't know, but this thing should slow them down. Oh, and throw your helmet down that way, that could help too," he said, gesturing away from the trail as Hicks lifted the light jump helmet and threw it into the underbrush to the trail's left.

Gras stepped over the carcass, knife in hand, as Hicks followed. They didn't move with much caution, only stopping every few hundred meters to check for noise, as they approached. After about the fourth time repeating this pattern, Gras paused.

"What?" Hicks whispered sharply to his African American friend, who grimaced at the tracks underfoot, "Look at these tracks. Like eight sets, fuck."

Gras nodded, "That's what I saw, too. Hope Clark and his boy are okay."

Hicks only responded with a tightened jaw as Gras stood back up, proceeding with more caution as they approached. Hicks stood back to back with Gras as the man cleared thorns blocking their way into the clearing.

"Oh fuck!"

Hicks swung around, knife raised, to see a boy leveling a Beretta at Gras from his perch on the roof. Hicks opened his mouth to speak as Gras lowered his knife.

"Georgie, it's me, buddy. Robbie," Gras said, raising his hands as Georgie lowered his Beretta, "Where's your dad, guy?"

The boy wept as he practically collapsed onto the roof, gesturing to the carcass on the porch. Gras stepped forward to help Georgie Clark down from the roof as Hicks stepped onto the porch to move the body of the child's father.

"Holy fuck," Hicks growled, dragging the bones to the edge of the forest. The body wasn't much of one, the things Robbie and Layne had seen had completely ripped every morsel of possible food from the squadron commander's body.

Hicks opened the door as Gras led the boy inside, taking the Beretta and holstering to for the child.

"It's okay, kid. Not your fault," said Gras, bringing the boy into a hug.

"No… he, he… he sacrificed himself. Pushed me onto the roof and said, son, survive. They ripped him apart, and I couldn't do anything… I just heard him scream, the animals ripping his muscle, his heart…. everything, Robbie," Georgie Clark cried into Robbie's shirt, grabbing it in fists.

"This is Layne, Georgie. We're gonna help you get to your mom, kid," he said, gripping the boy by the shoulders as the kid smiled slightly.

"We leave for the base first thing in the morning, guys."


	2. Embattled Bastards of Bragg

Hicks stood, his right hand resting on the handle of Clark's holstered Beretta as the teenage boy and Gras sat behind him, slurping on cereal. Hicks' own cereal sat in a glass on the window sill, and the dry cereal did not feel good, but it was something. He ran his left hand along his newly shaven scalp, sporting the look of a soldier, the jarhead.

"Georgie," Robbie started, his voice hoarse and untested since the previous evening, "Do you know where any camping supplies are?"

Georgie's face scrunched in thought as he slurped down more cheerios, before nodding quickly, "Yeah, Dad kept four rucks and some other shit in that upstairs closet by his room."

"Alright, you should come with me and get the stuff, Layne will keep watch. That group from yesterday _is _still out there, we can't forget that. Hopefully Bragg is holding out against this, whatever the hell _this _is," he said, standing and pushing the weathered oak chair under the table as he stowed his cereal bowl into the dishwasher.

Georgie goes up ahead of Gras, who instructed the boy on what to grab as they ascended, and the packing list wasn't long. Simple things, really, mainly toiletries, food, and water, the boy thought as he opened the closet and handed a navy blue ruck to Gras and grabbed another black one for himself, as Gras lifted the final one, a bright green ruck.

"You handle entertainment. Books, pictures, whatever _you _want, in that front pocket. Everything else, throw in the other pockets. Pack light, kiddo," he said, releasing his hand from Georgie's shoulder as the pair split up, Gras heading back down the stairs, where he knew he could find canteens and canned food.

Gras shoveled the canned vegetables and tuna into his pack, before uncovering a dark green portable stove that he snatched as if it were gold.

"Shit, Layne," he exclaimed in a wide smile, "Look what I've found."

The Ranger smiled back, nodding his excitement, before turning back to keep watch in the clearing now bathed in light. Layne strapped the small stove the the front of the ruck before throwing in all the metallic canteens he could spot, and then some other things he found in the modest cabin pantry. He grabbed a bundle of ponchos last, running his coarse hands over the rough canvas before stuffing them into the last space in the second ruck.

"Holy fuck, Robbie!" Hicks shouted, drawing his Beretta as Gras turned to face the ranger, who now was retreating towards the staircase and back door.

"Jesus fuck, Layne, take this pack, I'll get the kid," Gras said, rushing halfway up the stairs before coming face to face with Georgie, who was stumbling from his room with the ruck as he heard Layne's shout.

"I see it, Robbie, let's go, dammit," growled Georgie, brushing back flowing blonde hair as he put on his University of North Carolina baseball cap backwards. Robbie quickly went back down, following Layne out the backdoor and towards the trees as the first of the things entered through the front door.

He reached the treeline alongside Georgie, and Layne nodded, continuing down a game trail that both men knew from prior hunting experience, would lead them to Gras' old barracks.

"You sure about this?" he whispered back to the african american, who nodded before responding.

"Yeah, the guys would leave weapons for any stragglers, even if Bragg is completely overrun," he said, backpedaling at Georgie's heels as he watched the 'six' of their small column.

"You better fucking hope. If not, we can run by my place, but that's a bit of a ways away," he said, his Beretta paused on the head of another one of the things as he finished his sentence and signaled the group back off the trail and into the thick underbrush.

"How much further?" Clark groaned, almost like a child. Robbie was poised to cut him off, but Layne smiled back at him.

"Almost there. I can see it, actually," he noted to the boy, who nodded quickly, tightening his jawline, "I'll give you the damn pistol back once we're there."

Georgie grinned at his older companion, who just shook his head sarcastically as he vaulted over another log, picking up the pace as he reached the edge of the woods.

"Fan-fucking-tastic," he said, reholstering Clark's Beretta as he looked over the scene around him, bodies shot and strewn along the streets, half eaten. He could see more of the stumbling things off in the distance, but they were of no worry yet.

"You should go hotwire that humvee, Georgie and I will go inside the Barracks and round up some of the guns. I don't want to take too many, in case there are any other stragglers," he said, pulling his keys from the back pocket of his multicam cargo pants before sliding them into the doorknob. Hicks nodded, moving forward with the Beretta towards a humvee sitting in one of the parking spaces.

Gras picked up a note labeled "Robbie" that was sitting on the coffee table in the living room of their barracks and stuffed it in his pocket as he continued forward, his knife up. Georgie followed, taking in the small team room as they pressed into the armory, which sat behind a series of steel bars. He went to his personal arms locker first, fetching a black M1911 that he holstered across his chest, then grabbed his .22 before proceeding further into the armory, where lines of M416s decorated the walls, alongside different weapons of different calibers.

Gras grabbed a blue Adidas duffel bag laying discarded on the floor and began grabbing weapons from the wall. He snatched several 416s and 5.56 ammo to fill up the bag before continuing into pistols and longer range rifles, which he threw into a second Nike duffel Georgie had retrieved from the showers.

"Georgie, grab some of those flashlights and sights and throw them in some open space in my ruck," Gras said, shrugging off his ruck to the floor as he tightened a holographic sight to the space just in behind his 416's triangle sight.

The kid grabbed sights off the wall, stuffing them into the ruck in between different items, taking up any remaining space in the ruck. Gras reached up to an upper shelf and grabbed two sets of streamline body armor, plus a hat for Hicks, who generally wore hats, he knew from his time in the 1-64. Gras grabbed a camouflage boonie cap for himself before shoulder the duffels and his ruck to continue outside.

Gras looked out the window under the bill of his boonie and tightened his jaw. He slung 'his' 416 as he fitted the stock into his shoulder before kicking out the door and locking it behind him.

"Georgie, get to the humvee, I'll cover you," he said, and the child nodded, unsure but trying to put on a game face for Robbie.

With the first crack of his 416, Georgie sprinted from the relative safety of the wall towards the Humvee, where Hicks was firing out the driver's side window with his M9. Robbie ran next, as the back door on the humvee slammed shut. He ran around the back side, popping the trunk and dropping his load inside before clambering into the gun turret on top, where a Browning Heavy Machine Gun sat. He racked the bolt, inserting the six inch round the cannon fired, before staring down the sights as the humvee lurched forwards. The gun thumped out a burst of thirty rounds before Gras ducked into the backseat of the humvee, beads of sweat decorating his forehead. He grabbed the note from his pocket, unsealing it quickly as his sweat bled into the paper.

"This thing says we should go to Charlotte. The whole on base force headed there after Bragg fell. It's held by the Marines. Your mom could be there, Georgie, and so could Audrey, Layne," he said, nodding at the kid, and Hicks looked into the rear view mirror.

"It's decided then. Let's roll, boys. Charlotte, here we fuckin' come, the embattled bastards of Bragg," he chuckled to himself.


	3. Into the Zone

Hicks growled as he opened the driver's side door of the humvee, slinging his weapon over his shoulder. Since their departing from Bragg, this was the third traffic jam they had hit, forcing Gras to siphon gas and clear vehicles as Hicks loaded up more supplies, namely bullets and close quarters blades. Georgie had climbed up into the turret of the Humvee, propping his gun on the now low on ammo Browning.

"Even though you're suppressed, don't fire unless you're sure you can slow them down," whispered Hicks as he shut the door and stretched his legs. Slowing them down was the best they could do, they had yet to pinpoint where their shots would kill. Georgie nodded, flipping down their single monocular night vision lens as the two soldiers swept through the wreckage, securing a small perimeter for Georgie to watch.

"Layne," Gras whispered sharply as he moved to siphon gas from the first vehicle he saw, "Grab a secondary vehicle. We can split the supplies between vehicles that way, to lessen our dependence. Especially if we find others, of the living kind, you know."

Hicks nodded, pushing ahead to find another vehicle for the trio. He smiled as he looked up at Georgie, who was toting an assault rifle nearly too big for his body. Gras had, luckily, found a bipod at the second traffic jam they had hit in the evening, three hours prior.

Hicks stepped around a sedan to spot his objective, a four door Ford Pickup, one which he did not need to hotwire. The owner had left in a hurry, leaving the keys in the ignition as he departed. He dropped his rifle in the passenger seat before starting the engine and smiling at his luck as he stared at the dashboard. Full tank.

He winced, looking back as he saw Georgie fire a single warning shot, and Hicks had to think fast. He signaled Robbie to move to the opposite side of the highway, which was clear past a certain point. The trio had done this once already, at the first jam, when they were nearly swarmed by a horde. They would floor it to escape, then would stop to load supplies into the back.

He pulled the truck through the small median, depressing the gas pedal as he saw Gras make it over as well. They regrouped just at the outskirts of the main city, stopping to load some supplies into the back of the Ford before continuing in. They followed the simple map that had been left for Gras by his teammates, and making quick time through the hazardous city before reaching the tall, simple chain link fence that surrounded Firebase McCarthy, as the Charlotte Safe Zone had been named. Gras shook his head slowly, recognizing it as one of his teammates from Delta.

"George," a Marine Gunnery Sergeant shouted from the fenceline, raising his M16 Rifle at the Humvee as he walked slowly towards the gates.

"Washington," Hicks shouted back, having rolled down his window. The marine nodded once, lowering his weapon as the gate slid open, but only the first of two. The two vehicles pulled in side by side as the marine was joined by what seemed to be a fireteam.

"Names, and have you been bit?" the Gunny asked, and Hicks noted his weapon was off safety. It was no mistake, he knew, these men were obviously fighting nearly 24/7, as the blood littering their clothes suggested.

"Staff Sergeant Layne Hicks, Rangers. These are my companions, Master Sergeant Robert Gras, SFOD, and Georgie Clark, he's a child we picked up along the way," Hicks said, tapping the receiver of his rifle in thought, "And bit? I'm 'fraid I'm not too sure what you're talking about, Gunny."

"That's how these people reanimate, rise, reenter, whatever the fuck you call it. They are bit. Tough shit, we lost a FET the other day because of it. Completely dead, not even any fucking remains. Just bone, brother," the Marine shook his head, wiping a tear forming at his eyes.

Hicks nodded, and the Marine stepped forward, spinning all three around to check for the bites he had mentioned.

"You're good," he stated simply, slinging his rifle as he signaled a man in the guard tower to bring up the second gate, "Colonel Jackson Adams is head of the Firebase, his HQ is down a block to your right. Check in with him."

Hicks nodded, stepping back into the driver's seat to proceed down the now tiny road to the HQ. Tents had encroached on either side, making the small Firebase seem more like a refugee city than Charlotte, North Carolina, or what was left of it.

He stopped the truck as he saw the HQ, guarded by a pair of Marines who looked barely older than Georgie, and he nodded to them as he slung his 416 and entered. The Colonel looked tired, worn. Hicks assumed the man had not had any sleep in the previous thirty six hours, but he was still going.

"Staff Sergeant Layne Hicks, Rangers. What's the deal, Colonel?" he asked as Georgie and Gras came in behind him, Gras taking a seat against the wall.

"Son, you came in at a very bad fucking time. We are the _last _Safe Zone on the east coast. The west coast has two, and Chicago is down to holding the waterway as they evacuate north, into islands. DC fell yesterday, we have no communications with much of the government. Technically, I control everything west to the Mississippi. I am the highest ranking man east of it. Boston, DC, NYC, Charleston, Annapolis, Atlanta, and Miami have all fallen, son. Our 'president' is some fucking pussy air force general locked away in a bunker over in Cheyenne. I'm pretty much acting POTUS. Some security force I got, too," he growled to himself, "Now, what do you want?"

"My mom, she was a Sergeant by the name of Anna Clark, have you heard anything?" the boy asked to the weathered marine, who shook his head sadly, "She and her FET… they got wiped out by those dead fucks yesterday, son. She was awarded the Medal of Honor by me. Damn thing should have been issued more yesterday, but I only had two. She earned it."

Clark swallowed tears as the Colonel presented the blue and gold medal, pressing it into his pocket.

"Oh, and Hicks," he said, looking over the brim of his glasses as he rubbed salt and pepper hair, styled similarly to Hicks' jarhead, "Stay packed. I don't expect us holding until morning."

Hicks met the Colonel's hand in a shake, and mumbled a yes, sir, as he turned on his heel to go outside. He laid in the backseat of his pickup, awake, as he stared at the ceiling until he heard _it _at dawn.

"The fences are breached!" a marine shouted over a loudspeaker, and Hicks saw both Gras and Georgie pop up in the truck bed, before rushing to the humvee and shoveling some supplies into the bed of the Ford. Hicks watched the 'dead fucks' approach, his weapon sitting on the door frame.

"Georgie, stop!" he heard Gras shout, and noted Georgie on the ground before he began firing into the crowd of stumbling dead. His rounds fell some, but only some, and they continued their charge as Georgie hefted himself into the backseat of the Ford. Gras slammed on the roof hard, and Hicks didn't need to be told twice as he slammed on the gas, throwing his weapon to the passenger seat.

"It's my mom's," Georgie said quietly, strapping the third generation Colt Peacemaker to his hip, "and It's my favorite gun."

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed! Please review. **


	4. Hoarders

Brass bullet cases hit the floor of the truck bed as the african american operator fired into the mass of staggering corpses, struggling to reach out at him. Dead hands slammed against the side, being met only with hard, hot brass coming from the barrel of the 416. Hicks listened as Gras thumped back against the bed of the truck, reloading the rifle as they sped from the Safe Zone and deeper into the city. Bodies crunched under the weight of the Ford as they sped through the deserted city, looking for their ticket out, if there was one.

Gras slid open the back window of the Ford, making Georgie jumped. Robbie smiled down at the boy as he finally slung his weapon across his chest to secure it to himself.

"Hicks, bank hard left at the next turn once I bang on the roof, got me?"

"Hooah, I can do it," he shouted back, eyes narrowing as Gras shut the window, continuing to fire. He placed hard, accurate shots to the face, which he noted slowed the creatures down the most.

Two loud, resounding bangs sounded on the cab of the truck and Hicks pressed the pedal to the floor, the truck screeching as it sped up. The two outside wheels lifted as he sped around the next turn, coming face to face with the front entrance of the Carolina Panther's stadium. His heart nearly leaped into his throat as he saw the entrance.

"Holy shit," Georgie breathed as he unholstered his Peacemaker and Beretta and opened the passenger side door and shouted across the street, "YOU! Hurry up, we'll cover you!"

Georgie shut the door as Hicks flicked the passenger door unlocked. Georgie fired into the crowd of staggering dead as Gras picked up on the hint, opening fire himself. The woman struggled to run, dragging her left foot as she opened the door.

"You bit?" Hicks asked as she closed the door, relocking it without his prodding. His eyes flicked to her ankle before switching back to the road.

"No, are you?"

"Nah, we're good. What's up with your ankle?"

"'Nough with the questions big guy, just drive," she narrowed her eyes at him, he knuckles whitening around the crowbar as she gritted her teeth, "_please._"

Hicks smiled and nodded, but not at the woman as he saw Georgie tuck the Peacemaker behind her seat so he could fire nearly on command. He would do nothing to tell the kid off, he knew the boy was smart if his father led a Delta Squadron.

"Sorry," she said, dropping the crowbar to the floor boards as she covered her face with her hands, tears seeping through her fingers, "I've lost so much… I, I didn't mean it. My name's Madison, Madison Reiszul."

Hicks flicked his wrist at Georgie and the boy reholstered his Colt, "Haven't we all," he nodded at the road, "The name's Layne Hicks. My guys in the back are Georgie and Robbie, Georgie is the kid."

"Thanks for saving me from the hoarders," she smiled at Georgie, who nodded, crossing his arms.

"Why do ya call them hoarders?" he asked, a puzzled look crossing his face for a moment as he uncrossed his arms.

"My daddy called them that. He said they hoarded from you, took your life away, your friends, family…" she began to get teary eyed and Georgie simply nodded at her.

"We're going out into the Western Suburbs, Madison. You know of anything out here?" asked Layne, his eyes flicking between the road and her face, "And my question about the ankle still stands. What the hell happened?"

"I do not," she shook her head, wincing as he lifted her ankle, "I twisted it bad when I was getting out of the stadium. My dad, my- my brother, they… didn't make it out."

"Sorry to hear that," he nodded, tightening his jaw as he pulled down another suburban road, "We are from Fort Bragg, just got in last night."

"The CSZ?"

"Yeah, but-" the truck sputtered, rolling to a stop as Layne stomped on the pedal, "Fuck."

"There's a Uhaul truck down the street," Madison pointed out, indicating with her hand as Layne hopped from the driver's seat looking up to Gras. He nodded at Madison before speaking.

"Robbie, could I see one of those 416s? Madison and I are going to run down to the Uhaul truck and hotwire it, I'm going to need you and Georgie to cover our ass," he said as Gras stood, reaching for an unmodified 416 as Madison stepped out, crowbar in hand.

Layne caught the 416 as Georgie hopped into the bed, already unholstering his Peacemaker to reload it.

Layne stuck to the left side of the road, his 416 out and his eyes flickering around the neighborhood. He got to the Uhaul truck with ease, popping open the door and laying under the steering wheel as Madison maintained watch.

Gras growled to himself as Georgie slid in the final .44 round in the six chambers. _Only lookin' one fucking way, damn civilian, _he thought to himself as he stared at the young woman's posturing in maintaining 'watch' for Layne.

"You like her?" Georgie asked to Gras, who looked down at the blonde boy, who was refitting the hat on his hair.

"Haven't really talked much. Seems kinda dumb, to-" Robbie smiled down at the boy. His words were cut off as Georgie clicked home the hammer to his Colt and leveled it, "Don't fucking shoot her, though!"

Georgie depressed the trigger of the Colt, catching his target in the head. The dead, decaying body hit the ground with a thump and Madison screamed. Georgie grinned at the operator in pride.

"Situational Awareness, Robbie," he slyly commented, slipping home a new bullet to replace the one lodged in the head of the hoarder, "Guess that's how you kill the hoarders."

Gras looked puzzled.

"It's what Madison calls them."

"Jesus, Layne, Jesus," she cried softly into Layne's tan cotton t-shirt, her tears wetting the soft material, "It almost got me… I was almost killed, Layne."

Hicks pulled her into a hug, patting her on the back before standing her back up under her own weight, "I got the truck ready, hop in."

She smiled before walking around the hood of the car and sliding into the front seat, "Let's load it up."

Layne pulled it around, pulling the vehicle alongside the Ford, where Georgie and Robbie had began to gather the supplies from the Ford onto the ground to move them into the new truck. Robbie stood as Georgie threw the first ruck into the back.

"What'd we lose?" Layne asked his companion, who merely shrugged in indifference.

"Nothing _too _major. We lost three 416s in the Humvee, of the eight we had. A 417, obviously the browning.. a couple handguns. We may have lost the Portable Stove, but I only truly know the gun situation. Not until we unpack- if we unpack - will I truly know everything. Oh, and we lost the winter shit I gathered, but that's not a big deal. Summer is barely here," he said, picking another ruck off the ground to throw in the back as Madison lifted a duffel of weapons. Layne shot her a smile as their eyes met.

"Alright, that's better than I thought," he noted with a nod, and then picked up several gas containers, "Madison, do you know of any places west of here that we can set up in for at least a few days?"

"Yeah.. there's a nature preserve and campground, I'd say it's about a two hour drive," she noted, running fingers through her long brunette hair as she lifted up her crowbar and crawled into the back alongside Gras, who had started cutting firing ports into the side of the back compartment of the Uhaul truck.

"Can you get us there?" he said, and Gras and Clark shot him an angry look, "I need some sleep."

"Yeah, probably," she said, and then leaned into his ear, "Your boys don't seem to trust me too much."

"Trust is earned," he nodded, and she couldn't quite understand the double meaning, that much both Hicks and Gras could see on her face as she climbed into the driver's seat with Gras in the passenger's seat.

3 Hours Later

"Layne we're here. Robbie wants to go up on foot, we saw a campfire," she whispered into his ear, awaking him. Layne rubbed his eyes and picked up the gun Robbie had slid to him. He looked it over.

"Didn't forget, didya?" Layne shot a smile his way, and Robbie laughed.

"Old habits die hard, bitch," he shrugged back, and Layne lifted the customized 416. The weapon was exactly how his M4 had been laid out in Afghanistan. It felt solid in his hands, a warrior with a motivation.

"Hell yeah, let's go baby," he growled back, chambering a round into the chamber. Robbie had already ordered both Madison and Georgie to hang back and let the pair scout out the situation.

Layne hugged the shadows as he snuck up on the campfire. He shut his left eye, retaining the night vision in it as he lifted his weapon and stepped out of the treeline alongside Robbie.

"Everybody down!" the pair shouted, holding their weapons steady before a single, female voice called out.

"Layne?"

"Audrey?"

"Who the fuck is this guy, Audrey?" an accent grated out, from the sound of it, Layne noted, he was from Scandinavia.

"My _husband,_ Magnus," she said, standing. Robbie shot a sideways glance with a cocked eyebrow at Layne as they lowered their firearms, something here was off. The couple embraced and Audrey pulled away with a faint smile.

"Where is Kris?" Layne growled at his wife, who pointed at a girl running from a small tent just outside the treeline.

"Daddy!"

**A/N: Hope you enjoy the new character! Please review, it keeps me writing. **


	5. Torn

Layne clawed at his eyes as he and a group of four others gathered around the hood of the Uhaul truck. Dawn had come early this morning, and once more he would be on the road. He had only just met the small group around him, but he could already tell he was an outsider, and they were tight. The two women, Amelia Backton and Emily Christensen looked like sisters, always close to one another. Their brown hair flowed in curls just past their shoulders, and each woman wore a knife on their left leg. Aleksander Johannsen stood taller than Layne, and possessed grey eyes that seemed to cut through the earth itself. He was well built, that much was obvious from his cutoff sleeves. Finally, Willy Martinez, the bus driver, was the most likable. He had short, slicked back hair that he tamed with gel. Layne watched Aleks indicate a spot on the map, bringing him from his observations.

"I suggest we search here," he said, his deep guttural voice hoarse from sleep, "It's a suburban neighborhood, Magnus, Audrey and I came through on our way here. Looked pretty well off."

Layne shrugged at the Norwegian before readjusting the rifle on his shoulder. He would let Aleksander handle the reins on this one, he obviously knew the area better. Layne ran his hand over his short hair before speaking.

"I agree, there is probably a lot of supplies too. That area is one of the richer ones around Charlotte," he nodded at Aleks, who began rolling up the map.

"It's decided, we leave in fifteen. Say goodbye and load the fuck up, guys," said Aleks, gripping the map with huge, bear like hands before walking back to his lone tent, which he had set up on the perimeter, not unlike Layne's.

As he walked off, Willy spoke to Layne for the first time, "You think he's a soldier?"

"Probably," Layne decided, stretching his arms, "Reminds me of a younger version of myself, you know."

The twenty two year old bus driver smiled, "Well, you heard him. I've got the wheel, you better call shotgun."

Layne walked to the door, clicking it open and propping his 416 on the seat before walking off to see Kris, who he could see talking to Madison off near Madison's tent. His daughter had taken to Madison quickly in the absence of her mother, which Layne frowned at. Audrey had seemed to disappear the last few days, and although disconcerting, much more pressing matters were at hand other than his wife situation.

"Hey honey," he smiled at his daughter, squatting down to put both gloved hands on her shoulders, "I'll be back, that's a promise. I need to do this; for the group, for you. I won't leave you again."

"I know Daddy, I know," Kris Hicks smiled at him, and he brushed her brown hair from her face as he pulled her into a hug, "Do you want to talk to Madison?"

The brunette had wandered away from the father-daughter pair, and Layne tightened his jaw, nodding. Madison saw him approach and smiled at him, which he returned.

"What's up?" she asked, hushed so she wouldn't wake anyone sleeping.

"I don't know if you realized," he frowned, "but Audrey… she's kind of, checked out, I guess. If I die out there, take care of Kris, and don't let Audrey do anything dumb."

Madison nodded, smiling before pulling Layne into a hug, "It's okay, Layne. I owe you that much. Don't worry, you'll make it back."

The pair pulled away from each other as Layne backpedaled back, "I'll be back for dinner, Kris."

**2 Hours Later**

The group clicked the truck locked as they gathered around the hood of the truck. Layne and Aleks seemed to take joint control, bouncing their tips and tricks into the group, who obviously absorbed them well.

"One last thing," Layne finished the pair's speech, "We're looking for four items. Water, Food, Bullets, People, in that order. Anything else is dead weight and we only carry it if we have the room. Good luck, people."

Aleks nodded, confirming Layne's orders, "We'll take 2347 first, move down the left side of the block from there."

Layne led the way, his three day assault pack bearing down on his shoulders as he moved forward in a crouch, his 416 rifle pointed outwards for threats. A big, fat cylindrical suppressor was fitted to the front of the barrel, stamped with a ranger scroll. He and Aleks reached the front porch first, stacking up on the sides of the doorway as the three civilians looked on in confusion.

Aleks gave three nods before flipping around and kicking the door in, Layne placing his boots inside the doorway before the door hit the ground. His weapon was directed out and his eyes narrowed, scanning the living room for threats.

"Clear," he whispered back out to the three civilians, who followed Aleks in, "Alright, you know what to do. Grab your shit and let's get the hell out of dodge."

Layne entered the kitchen, shoveling canned goods into his bag, before hearing a resounding thud throughout the house.

"Was that thunder?" asked Amelia, breaking Layne's warfighter posture for a moment. It had certainly done the same to Aleks, and he wasn't as patient as the Ranger.

"That sure as fucking 'ell wasn't thunder, mate," he growled back at the woman, his Sig Sauer assault rifle lifted to the doorway. He flicked his head towards Layne, who nodded once. Layne peeled his weapon around the corner before almost freezing in fear.

"Break that fucking window!" he whispered to Willy, who stared at him confused before Aleks pushed him to the floor, pulling up on the lower portion of the window and grinning back at Layne before swinging himself out. Amelia and Emily followed, Aleks catching each woman with ease. Willy, seeing the twelve foot drop, froze in the window once he realized Aleks wouldn't catch him.

"Bloody 'ell, mate, come on, dammit," Aleks hoarsely whispered, before seeing Willy flail to the ground, revealing a grinning Layne, who swung himself from the window landing on both feet with ease.

"Where the 'ell you from?" Aleks asked, confused with the Ranger's calm under pressure, but Layne simply shook his head.

"Not now, let's get the fuck out of here," he said, taking off through a small hedge row, still leading with his weapon as he slid out the other side and began to set up his own one man perimeter.

"What the fuck was that for, mano?" asked Willy, an innocent outer shell replaced with an inner city hispanic teen. He rubbed at his ankle.

"Wasn't gonna let your sorry ass get me killed," he said, almost chuckling as Aleks cleared his throat, "I'm a ranger, Aleks."

"I worked with some of 'em in Afghan. Those boys got their shit in a row, eh?" Aleks chuckled at Layne's quick, sturdy nod.

"Regardless, we gotta get a move on. Aleks, you take the two girls across the street. We need to clear at least two more houses to be good for a week, I'm thinking. That is if we get the same amount of shit," he said, bouncing his pack filled with canned goods for effect.

"I was thinking, we shouldn't need water. We're so far up shit creek at the moment, it'll just add weight, and plus. There's a creek near camp," Emily said, shrugging as if it was common fact. Both Aleks and Layne cursed her under their breath.

"Tell us that shit next time, girlie," Aleks growled to her as Layne stood, "And jesus Layne, why the fuck do I get both girls?"

"Watch your mouth, son," Layne smiled at him as Amelia slapped him soundly across your face, "She clearly agrees."

Aleks frowned and rubbed at his stubble where a red handprint was beginning to form as Layne signaled Willy to follow him. Layne tried the lock on the house, and finding it unlocked, walked inside the small suburban split level. He moved into the kitchen, nodding to Willy before slinging his rifle over his shoulder and shoveling more supplies into his bag.

"Did you hear that?" Willy whispered to Layne, to cocked his head to listen.

_Thump, Thump. _

_No! Stay back!_

"Fuck, that's upstairs," Layne said, dropping his bag as he bounded up the small flight of stairs before Willy followed. He heard Willy cock the shotgun and point it at the doorknob. He whipped the gun from his hands, "I got this."

The shotgun bucked in his hands as the blast rolled over his ears. He heard the gun clatter on the ground as the hoarder closed in on the two people in the corner. He raised his rifle and fired two rounds into the head, the body falling onto the floor in a sickening fashion as the middle aged man, tears still in his eyes, extended his bloody hand.

"Michael Hamilton," he said, face unchanging, "Th-thank you. My wife, she's Julia. Please, help us, our group got wiped out."

"Staff Sergeant Layne Hicks, Army Rangers," he smiled, before cocking his head to the side and rubbing his stubble, "Or I was, before shit hit the fan. We have a truck out on the street, some other people at a camp. We need you people, we need the numbers."

The Hamiltons both smiled at Layne, who nods at Willy before continuing out the room, their new companions in tow.

"Please don't kill us," Julia Hamilton wept from behind her husband, who shushed her quickly.

"I'm sorry.. our last group, they were killed by… humans."

"If I wanted to kill you, ma'am, I'd have let you get torn apart."

**A/N: **aaaanddd more OCs


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